


Amicable

by deaneatscake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Gay Panic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaneatscake/pseuds/deaneatscake
Summary: Written for Destiel Modern AU Challenge, prompt: an actor, a Frisbee, "Run!".Dean still has no idea what exactly he's doing here, and the fact that he manages to hit a cute guy in the head with a Frisbee in his first week of college doesn't help matters either. Thankfully, that guy turns out to be actually cool and nice and maybe also a bit too nice...





	Amicable

**Author's Note:**

> This has to be by far my most cliché thing I ever wrote and ever will write, but it was really fun and I think everyone needs one self-indulgent trope-y "Dean has no idea he's into guys" fic. :) I hope you guys enjoy it too!  
> Thanks for [Michelle](http://daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this on SUPER SHORT NOTICE because I somehow fucked up everything, whoops.

**uuuuuu**

 

It’s the first week of college and Dean already wants to quit. He’s sitting on a tiny and very atrophied speck of grass in front of the building and it’s fucking  _ hot _ . That alone isn’t the source of his dissatisfaction – it probably would have been hotter if he had worked at Bobby’s in the backyard – but the fact that he’s sitting here, water bottle empty, for the last thirty minutes for  _ zero fucking reason _ is.

Chuck, one of his fellow students, is lying next to him in the grass and scribbling something into his notebook, trying to ‘get the vibe from this scenery, it’s very stimulating, man’. Dean doesn’t know what that guy has smoked and he probably also doesn’t  _ want _ to, but at least he’s been punctual. The other two guys whose name he has since forgotten haven’t shown up yet, and a quick check on his phone revealed that they also didn’t bother to give him a fucking reason why.

He’s pissed. Legitimately pissed. The only thing keeping him here is his pride – he didn’t went up to his dad, told him that he’s going to move out and get a few extra hours in at Bobby’s so he could manage to apply to a community college, and left in the middle of the night as the ‘second disgrace of this mother fucking household’ to quit after one week.

That’s just not an option. So he’s plucking off the pitiful imitations of blades of grass and waits for the others to show up. His hands are sweaty and he can’t quite discern if it’s because it’s so hot or because he’s so nervous, but the plucking helps. A bit.

Why did he apply to classes for filming again? Oh right, because he watched a Tarantino movie and wanted to do the same. And then he had watched a Michael Bay movie and wanted to do  _ better _ , and that had led to a series of events, the culmination in which he is now witnessing at this campus.

“You got any messages from them?” he asks Chuck who’s right now staring dreamily into the notebook and not giving him any attention, at all. Jesus, are all students going to be like this? Because he’s, like, not.

“What? Oh, no, I don’t know. I mean – hey, do you know what rhymes with amicable?”

“Um, no?”

“Oh, okay,” Chuck frowns. “Wait. Let me see if I got any messages.” He pulls out his phone while Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes and checks it. Apparently, he’s a very busy dude because on the home screen Dean can see no less than 20 messages, and the rest probably just got cut out from the stream.

After a few  _ hms _ and  _ ahs _ , Chuck finally shakes his head. “Nope. The last thing Michael told me was that I’m supposed to bring – oh no.” He stares at his phone in horror. “I was supposed to bring the camera.”

Quitting sounds more and more promising with every minute. “Dude, how the fuck do you expect us to shoot a few scenes if we don’t have a camera?” he almost shouts because seriously, he’s at wit’s end and he’s thirsty and also tired because these classes start at 8 am and  _ fuck _ him.

Chuck winces. “I forgot,” he says weakly. “I brought my notebook, and I’ve got all kinds of ideas in there –”

“You wrote a poem.”

“Yes, but –”

“A poem that contains the word  _ amicable _ . We’re supposed to film a few shots of us doing random stuff. This has  _ nothing _ to do with our project. Alright, fuck this, I’m out.”

He stands up probably more dramatically than he has to which results in him almost falling over and Chuck, of course, uses that moment to speak up again.

“We can just talk about all the things, find some nice scenery, and make a few test shots with our phones. It’ gonna be great. Once Michael and Benny show up.”

Now Dean’s standing there, in the middle of the campus, surrounded by at least 50 different people and he looks like a dick. Great. It’s not that anyone’s paying attention to him, but he still feels bad and the way Chuck looks like from up here – all curled up and tiny and honestly, kind of pathetic – makes him reconsider his decision.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles. “But I’m still going to get some ice cream.”

Chuck’s face brightens. “Great. I like vanilla.”

“I was –” The hopeful look in Chuck’s face makes him shut up. “I was just about to ask you that. Thanks, buddy,” he finishes on an entirely different note and makes his way to the small cafeteria a few hundred feet away. It’s not like the other guys are showing up anytime soon and that way he doesn’t look like a total dick.

Hey look, it’s Dean Winchester, high school drop-out who doesn’t deserve to be here and hates everything, but at least he buys a dude he doesn’t even know vanilla ice cream. Who even  _ likes _ vanilla ice cream? Strawberry is where it’s at.

He passes by a few students who’re using the sun to play something akin to badminton and a couple of dudes who are standing in front of one of those giant chess boards, intently discussing the best strategy. Probably. He wouldn’t know. He knows the basic rules, always switches up the knight and the bishop and that’s it.

The only person who makes him feel remotely like he belongs here is a guy who’s hiding behind sunglasses and Stephen Hawking’s Brief History Of Time – now  _ that’s _ the thing he can get behind, reading nerdy books alone; maybe he should have signed up for something to do with physics, but the fact that his mathematical abilities are nothing to brag about always hindered him.

On the way to the cafeteria, he checks his phone when finally a message from Benny has popped up: “Gonna be there in 15 minutes, we got a camera. Chuck didn’t get the memo, right?” Dean lets out a breath – at least they’re  _ maybe _ getting anything done today. An hour late but hey, he probably can’t be picky. Sam has told him his own horror stories about the work ethics of a few fellow students of his, so this doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary.

The tables at the cafeteria are almost empty – most people opt to eat their stuff outside – but there’s still a long line waiting. Dean grabs two ice cream sundaes from the display and makes his way to the queue. This is going to take forever, he can feel it, and he can’t even use the time to play silly games on his phone since his hands are occupied.

He’s almost at the end of his patience and considers to drop everything and run when he’s finally the next customer. A red-haired woman with a name tag saying ‘ _ Charlie _ ’ is behind the counter, looking far too happy for what has to be a really shitty job. When she sees the look on his face, she frowns. “Hey, grumpy,” she chirps. “You got a smile for me? You can’t tell me you want to buy ice cream for your date and then go back to them like this.”

If he weren’t so stressed out already, he’d probably find this funny – Chuck, his date, yeah, right. Chuck is as far from a dream guy as it can get; not that Dean would know something about that. Just – objectively speaking. Yeah.

“Um,” he says because he doesn’t quite know what to answer that, but she doesn’t even let him finish whatever he had wanted to say (he isn’t sure himself).

“That’s better,” she winks. “That’s $3,50, by the way.”

Dean scrambles for his wallet and puts a few notes on the counter. He kind of feels like he missed his mark but it’s not like his life is going to change just because a cashier thinks that he’s buying ice cream for a date. It’s not like she’s seen him with Chuck – wait, has she? He looks at the wide glass front but nope, he can’t see Chuck from this angle.

He hastily takes the receipt and tries to put his wallet and phone away while somehow balancing the two ice cream pots, making his way through the students again. Michael and Benny are still nowhere to be seen, but they should be coming soon. “Here,” he drops the vanilla sundae on Chuck who just barely manages to retrieve it.

“Thanks,” he says and points at his phone. “Benny just texted me, they’re coming soon. And they brought equipment.”

“Yeah, I got the same message.” Dean cautiously sits back down on the grass and looks around while digging into his ice cream, too. The scenery hasn’t changed, but after the precious moments in the cafeteria, the sun seems to shine even deadlier than before. He contemplates taking off his flannel but he’s only wearing a ratty old black shirt under it and would feel severely underdressed in the sea of hipsters.

“So,” Chuck says nervously. “They’ve got a camera. So it’s, all good, right?”

“I guess.” He doesn’t want to encourage Chuck any further.

“So, um, it’s great weather.”

If he could roll his eyes into the back of his head, he would totally do it. “Dude, I’m not mad, for fuck’s sake,” he says. “I’m just – it’s hot.” And he’s cranky and feels the weight of existential dread crushing him, but he’s not going to tell him that.

Chuck deflates a bit. “Thank God,” he says. “I don’t want to know how awkward the project would be otherwise. I hate being the one who makes it all go to shit.” He picks up his notebook again. “Somehow, I still always am. It’s curious.”

It’s probably the weed, Dean thinks, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. They spend a few minutes in silence, finishing their ice until a heavy black bag is dropped right in front of them. Dean looks up to find Benny smiling at him, a camera in his hand.

“Michael’s gonna be right behind,” he says. “We forgot something in the car.”

“You’re here with a car?” Chuck pipes up.

Benny rolls his eyes. “We’re not going to drive you back to your apartment.” It seems like this isn’t the first time since they’ve had this argument and Dean wonders why everyone on this campus is so friendly with each other; it’s still their first week, right? Why do they all… know each other? He feels kind of lost here and tries to smooth over it by diverting back to the topic at hand.

“So, what are your plans for today?” he asks. “It’s kind of crowded here, don’t you think?”

“That’s gonna be the good thing, brother.” Benny flops down into the grass, next to Dean. “It’s going to be more authentic. We’re going to go for a very casual style of filming.”

“We are?” Dean’s impressed and it must show on his face because Benny laughs and pats him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, we’re all just bullshitting our way through.”

Chuck frowns. “I’m not,” he explains. “I know what I want to do – it’s just that I can express it better on paper.”

“Then why did they let you in film school?” Michael has popped up between them, another bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t sit down, instead opting to hover over them looking grim, but that seems to be his normal facial expression.

“This isn’t film school, this is community college,” Chuck retorts.

“As I said, we’re all just bullshitting,” Benny repeats. “Come on, the sooner we’re finished with this, the sooner we can get back to fun things.”

“I agree with Benny.” Michael puts his bag down and opens it. “We got a few props here. Since I’m not entirely sure what the project is supposed to be about – and I think that this is intentional – I just brought a variety of things.” He pulls out a few balls in different sizes, a Frisbee, a few fruits and three very heavy books.

“I also got a ventriloquist’s dummy.” Benny points at the other bag.

“That’s creepy, man.” Chuck vocalizes what Dean has thought; who the fuck has a ventriloquist’s dummy? That’s the kind of shit you see in horror movies, and not the good kind. Dean has always hated dolls, and these kind of dummies were just – enhanced dolls that could speak and probably work magic and all that stuff.

“Well, is anyone of you going to volunteer for super close face shots? No? Guessed so. So, we’re not allowed to work with a script, but I still think we should go through what we’re going to do.” Michael has taken over as the leader of the group and really, Dean is thankful for that. He certainly doesn’t want to spend his time trying to be in charge, he’s just going to lean back and do whatever they’re telling him to do.

They spend the next hour talking about the different things they could do – they’re supposed to fill 5 minutes showing off what they can do with a camera – and assign the roles to each other. Benny doesn’t want to be filmed eating for whatever reasons, so Chuck spends the next minutes contemplating if he’d rather eat an apple or a pear, and Dean tries to blend out most of the conversation.

It’s only when they all look at him expectantly when he finally looks up. “Um, what?”

“I asked if you’re okay with your part, brother,” Benny repeats and since he doesn’t want to admit that he didn’t exactly listen, he just shrugs.

“Sure. I mean, how hard can it be, right?”

“Great.” Chuck claps his hands. “I’d really love to get a good shot of the Frisbee flying – does anyone know what this is called?”

Wait, what,  _ Frisbee _ ? Dean looks at the small disk in the pool of stuff in front of him. He’s not supposed to play Frisbee, is he? He never did that. He’s not even sure he’s ever seen people do this; it’s just something everyone talks about and agrees that it sucks. It’s basically… baseball for people who don’t want to play baseball. At least that’s what his Dad had said.

The others keep talking while Dean contemplates confessing that he has no idea what they want him to do, but again, his pride gets the better of him. He’ll just – do whatever they tell him to. In front of the camera. Whatever. He’ll certainly manage to throw a Frisbee. You throw them, right? Fuck. Why can’t he kick a soccer ball or something?

He’s almost in a full blown panic when the others stand up and decide to set up the camera. By now the place has thinned out a bit which is good because he’s going to make a fool of himself soon. “Why did I agree to this?” he groans.

“You want to go first?” Chuck chirps and he wants to strangle him.

“Sure, why not,” he answers sourly and grabs the Frisbee before standing up. This day is not going to get any better soon.

“So, you’re going to have to stand – wait, here I think is best. Could you stand there?” Michael points at a spot a few feet away and Dean complies.

“That good?” he asks. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to stand, or behave. For fuck's sake, he didn’t come here to be an actor, he wanted to learn about fun editing stuff and – stuff. It’s not like he can write this on a resume and it certainly isn’t going to change his life. He definitely prefers the cut-and-dry tasks he had to do while at Bobby’s – you either work or you don’t, but he has never once been sent to do stuff that was totally unimportant to the task at hand.

Benny nods and puts his thumbs up. “You’re doing great,” he says. Chuck is standing next to him, scribbling something in his notebook that Dean hopes sincerely hasn’t anything to do with him and blissfully ignoring him.

Dean looks around. They’re standing at a relatively empty green area now, but just a couple feet away he can see the dudes with the chess board still going at it and a few people sitting on the stone benches. He feels dumb. Majorly dumb.

“So, now, run!” Michael says and makes a nondescript gesture with his hands.

“What?” Dean asks dumbfounded.

“Run!” Michael repeats. “Run, and we’ll follow your movement, and then you throw the Frisbee and we follow that one.”

That’s bullshit but since that’s apparently what they agreed he just nods. Michael gives him another gesture that’s probably supposed to say ‘do it already, you fucker’ and he starts to run with the Frisbee in his hand, trying to dissect where exactly his life went wrong.

He only comes a few feet before Michael screams ‘throw’ and although he feels like a dog, he obediently throws the disk. Or, tries to. Really, it’s not even so much trying, it’s more like an accidental drop. Turns out it’s really hard to actually throw this disk correctly, who would have thought?

Benny sighs and Dean subsequently blushes; he’s just not good at this, okay? They try a total of three times, all of which are less optimal – the one time he actually manages to throw it a few feet he somehow throws it more backward than anything and he can feel anyone getting frustrated.

“Maybe I should go first –” Chuck says but Dean angrily interrupts him.

“Nope, I got this.” He grew up with sports, and he’s not going to let this stupid fucking disk tell him otherwise. So they set up one last shot and Dean goes in with all his anger, runs the few feet like a pro because he now knows exactly where he’s supposed to throw and winds up with all the strength he has.

And he manages to throw it. Far. Too Far. Michael doesn’t even TRY to follow the movement with the camera; instead, they just all stare in horror as the tiny disk whorls right towards the benches with dozens of people sitting on it.  _ Fuck _ .

Dean starts to run again although it’s obvious that he’s never, ever going to catch up with the Frisbee, and shouts ‘watch out’ just as the disk hits the head of a dark haired guy with a huge thunk. “SHIT I’M SO SORRY,” he exclaims and jogs the last few feet to the bench. It’s the guy from before he recognizes, but now his book is lying in the grass, right next to the sunglasses and he is hunched over, rubbing his head.

The unsuspecting Frisbee is lying on the bench next to the guy and he contemplates if he should pick it up or not as he approaches. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats and extends a hand to – what? Pat him on his shoulder? Look at the damage? He’s not sure.

The guy straightens himself a bit then and Dean can see his pained expression, but also a slightly crooked smile. “It’s alright,” he says although he sounds like he’s about to puke. He’s also still rubbing the back of his head.

“I didn’t – I wanted to – fuck, I’m so sorry. Do you need something? Do you need to get that looked at? Shit. I’m Dean, by the way. And super sorry that I just hit you.”

“I noticed. And I’m Cas.” He puts his hand away and curiously looks at it. “No blood,” he asserts. “That’s good.”

Dean takes the opportunity to look at Cas’ head himself. It’s hard to see because his hair is covering everything up, but it looks like there’s a nasty lump beginning to blossom. “Shit, you probably need some ice for that,” he says. “I think the nurse is somewhere on the main campus –”

“Dean,” Cas says intently. “It’s alright. This certainly won’t be the first nor the last time someone hits me with something here. I’m just glad you didn’t throw it in my face.”

This prompts Dean to look at Cas’ face for real this time; the pained expression has somewhat softened and wow, Dean’s really glad he didn’t throw it in his face. It’s – aesthetically pleasing, to say the least. His eyes are a very intense shade of blue and although his lips look somewhat chapped, it only makes him want to kiss them more – no, wait. Dean coughs. He doesn’t want to kiss them. It would, of course, be a good solution to the slightly dry lips, but he doesn’t  _ want _ to kiss them.

Fuck, get it together, Winchester.

“You alright there?” Benny chimes in from behind. Shit, he almost forgot him and now he just spent the last twenty seconds just staring at this guy’s face. He opens his mouth to say something, but Cas beats him to it.

“I’m alright,” he says firmly and puts his hand back to the back of his head, rubbing it softly. “It’s just going to be a nasty goose egg. Thank you for your concern, though.”

For a lack of something better to do, Dean scrambles to pick up the book and glasses and gives them back to Cas who thanks him with a smile that does not make him gooey inside. Really, he came here to learn stuff and not get inappropriate crushes on – well, guys.

“Michael said we should just stop for today. Chuck said he wants a pizza and I think Michael’s got an aneurysm over there.” Benny chuckles. “You should care for your friend here, and we’ll try to meet at a later time?” He looks at Dean pointedly.

He doesn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved that they basically got nothing done today; overall, he’s just happy that Cas isn’t trying to sue him. That would be the last he needed. “Sure, you go ahead,” he finally says. “I’m just gonna look if we can get an ice pack or something.”

“Dean, I don’t need an ice pack,” Cas sighs. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“People don’t always know what’s wrong when they get a concussion,” Dean insists while Benny makes his way back to the others. He looks back for a second, seeing Michael discussing with Chuck intently – and, apparently, not very friendly – and focuses his attention back to Cas. “Trust me, I’ve had enough experience with my little brother.”

“In that case, you should also know that it’s probably best if I just rest,” Cas points out. “Really, I’m okay. I wanted to go home anyway.”

“Let me at least drive you.” It’s out before he knows he said something. It seems like neither of them had expected this because Cas’ eyes widen and Dean can feel himself blushing. Which is stupid. It’s not like he’s inviting the guy back to his house to fuck. He’s just being nice.

“I don’t live far from here,” Cas says. “Usually, I just walk. But if you insist –”

“I do.” Because it’s not like he can go back now, right?

He almost reaches out to steady Cas but then he recoils; it’s not like Cas needs steadying, anyway. Overall, he looks like he’s in perfect condition: his breath is steady, his eyes are focused, he doesn’t seem to be sick anymore.

It’s an awkward walk back to the parking lot; Dean doesn’t know what to say and Cas doesn’t seem to be interested in small talk anyway. Talking about stuff like the campus or their life seems – inappropriate, somehow. It’s not like he’s ever going to see the guy again, Jesus.

When they reach the Impala, they exchange a few polite words about the car and it turns out that Cas knows absolutely nothing about cars, something that Dean immediately has to change. He gushes about his baby, tells Cas a bit about the different type of Impalas there are and how much of a bitch it had been to find the  _ exact _ parts when he had to basically build it from scratch a few years ago.

It fills the silence well enough and Cas even seems to be remotely interested, if his humming and smiling are any indications. The ride doesn’t last as long as Dean would have wished and they’re in front of Cas’ small house in no time. Cas awkwardly sits on the passenger seat, his hand on the handle.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says slowly. “For the ride. Not the assassination attempt.”

“Dude,” Dean mumbles, cheeks burning. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I never had a Frisbee in my hand before in my  _ life _ .”

Cas chuckles. “What happened that you decided to use your first attempts at playing Frisbee for worse?”

“I – well, we were filming stuff.” It crosses Dean’s mind that he actually never told Cas about anything that led up to these events; they only talked about his car. Hell, he doesn’t even know a thing about Cas other than his name and the fact that he likes Stephen Hawking. “I’m taking a few classes on cinematography,” he explains further.

“I didn’t realize these come with Murder 101.” Dean shoots him a dirty look and he throws his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m done with the jokes. They’re bad jokes, anyway. I apologize. I tend to not be very funny. That’s why I chose physics.”

If that’s supposed to be another joke he definitely nailed it, Dean thinks and smiles at Cas. They both stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before Cas coughs politely. Dean flinches, feeling caught out – he should really stop ogling this guy like he’s a hot girl with big tits. Just because he has this really cute stubble that is only apparent when you’re really close and these ice blue eyes doesn’t mean that’s an excuse to be feeling him up with his eyes.

“I think I’m gonna go in,” Cas says quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. Suddenly, the Impala feels very cramped and he lets out a huge breath when Cas finally opens the door to let himself out. Fresh air is streaming into the car and when Cas is fully outside, he feels like a weight has just been taken off from his shoulders. He weakly waves back when he sees Cas waving goodbye to him and finally takes off.

Without anything better to do and basically the day off, he feels kind of lost in his small apartment. Michael has opened a group chat to ‘better coordinate the next tries’ which feels like a very passive aggressive way to convey this but hey, it’s not like Dean can judge, and they text back and forth for a while, trying to find a good time for their next time.

Most of all, he thinks about Cas. It’s stupid, really. He knows nothing about this guy – except his address, which is weird and creepy enough on its own – but what he  _ does _ know is that this guy looks good. Really good. And it’s stupid because he stopped thinking about guys that way a few years ago, but he’s really hitting a nerve here.

Dean sighs. This is just going splendidly. It’s the first week of college and Dean doesn’t want to quit anymore, he just wants to die.

 

**uuuuuu**

 

They manage to finish the project – which turns out to be a jumbling mess of different shots and cuts that Dean has already forgotten the name of – with a comparatively good mark and he’s glad. They’re now almost a month in and he kind of settled into a routine. A very boring routine, but at least it’s something.

Apart from a few embarrassing masturbation sessions he hasn’t thought about Cas again (he really, really hasn’t) and he had also yet to see the guy again on campus. It’s like he vanished – not like Dean is looking for him, it’s just… he tends to notice these things. He bumps into Chuck every now and then although he seems to be more stoned every time he sees him, and occasionally hangs out with Benny. Other than that, he’s basically completely alone on the campus.

Most people he doesn’t even know by name. It’s weird. He probably has the most contact with the red-haired cashier at the cafeteria, Charlie, with whom he had struck up a weird friendship. Somehow, he never got to clear up the misunderstanding that no, the vanilla sundae wasn’t for his date, so now she always asks him about his date and he makes up the most bullshit stories why there is or isn’t one. He suspects that she knows he’s just bullshitting him, but it’s fun either way and they may or may not have slowed every down in line with their banter.

If his head wasn’t so preoccupied with Cas – which it, you know, wasn’t – he’d probably ask her out but somehow, that’s the last thought in his mind right now. Also, it’s kind of creepy to hit on someone in their workplace – he still remembers the time an older woman hit on him when he was repairing her car.

It’s cooled down a lot in the last week so Dean feels a bit weird when he grabs his usual strawberry sundae in the cafeteria. Since it’s a Monday and he’s unusually grumpy he figures that it’s going to be okay, though, and with the ice in hand, he makes his way to the line. Charlie is working, selling a sandwich to one of Dean’s professors whose name he has forgotten again. He pulls out his phone and opens up his game folder when he hears a familiar voice behind him and almost drops everything.

“Hello, Dean.”

He spins around so fast his neck starts to hurt and smiles dumbly at Cas. “Um, hey,” he says and tries to find something…  _ anything _ , intelligent to say.

“How are you?” Cas asks warmly. “You don’t have any Frisbees in your bag, do you?”

Great, he’s seen this guy the first time after three weeks and the first thing he does is blush in front of him. “No, of course not,” he croaks. “We already finished that project a week ago.”

“Oh really?” Cas settles in line next to him, completely naturally, as if they’re friends or whatever. He has a chocolate sundae in his hand. “How was it?”

“Good.” He’s worried he’s going to sound rude, so he quickly adds: “What are you doing here?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, but thankfully Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

“Monday is my worst day,” he explains. “I have five classes. I’m stuck here until 5, so I’m gonna make the most out of it and eat something sweet.”

“That sucks,” Dean winces. “I’m basically off the hook after this one. It’s just cheaper here than going to the supermarket.”

There are still five people in line, so they start to do some small talk. It’s awkward at first, but after a while, they manage to settle in an almost relaxing routine and talk about their respective schedules. Cas pities him when Dean explains that his long day is on Fridays and Dean learns that Cas takes a linguistic class ‘because it’s fun’. He almost calls him a weirdo but decides against it because he would come off either as rude or as endearing and he’s neither.

Charlie winks at him when he finally puts his ice cream on the counter. He also takes Cas’ cup out of his hands and insists on paying – for the Frisbee incident – and already slides the 3,50 over to Charlie.

“Thanks, bro,” he says cheerfully. “And I’m so glad you finally decided to show up with your date.” She winks at Cas. “You’re hot. Full homo, though.” She puts her hand in the air. “Don’t worry, Deano, I’d never steal your man.”

Dean’s heart stops for a moment and he hastily turns to Cas. “We’re not –” he says, more to Cas than to Charlie really, and thankfully Cas takes over.

“We just met by chance here,” Cas explains. “But I’m very flattered that you think I’m ‘hot’. Dean is just paying for me because he tried to murder me a few weeks ago.”

“Did not,” he says weakly. His entire face feels hot and he’s probably looking like a tomato right now. Maybe he should just… smash the entire sundae in his face. Yeah. That would help, probably.

“I see,” Charlie says, although she doesn’t particularly look like she believes him. Still, she smiles at him as she hands over the receipt. Dean just stares at it until Cas clears his throat.

“I guess – we’ll be going then. Goodbye” – he looks at her name tag – “Charlie.” Cas lightly touches Dean’s arm, softly steering him towards the exit while Dean just nods helplessly towards Charlie. “Or did you want to eat it inside?”

“What? Uh – no. Outside is fine.” He wonders when they decided that they were going to eat this together, but then again, nowadays he wonders about a lot of things. They settle down on a bench that’s not too far away from the one where they met each other and it’s making Dean feel very, very weird. Like his guts are practicing a somersault while at the same time trying to vanish into nonexistence.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice anything odd and continues to ramble about the next class he has while Dean just nods and goes along with it, slowly easing himself back into the conversation again. By the time they finished their sundaes they’re enthusiastically talking about the last party they, apparently, both attended and lament about the early mornings. Cas even pets his arm when he pities him because his route to the campus is much longer than Cas’ and it makes Dean get goosebumps. Fuck, he’s pathetic.

It’s only when Cas looks at his phone that they realize that they’ve almost 40 minutes on the small bench, meaning that Cas is almost late to his class. He sighs and stands up, looking at Dean. “Thank you for your company,” he says. “I don’t want to be creepy, but –” He trails away, taking a deep breath before continuing: “Would you be interested in exchanging phone numbers? I enjoy your company, and I think it would be nice to talk to you apart from chance meetings. And without threats to bodily harm.”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

Cas smiles. “Maybe on my death bed. But only if you’re not the one taking me there.”

“Jesus. Alright.” This is okay. This isn’t a cheap flirtation, he just legitimately enjoyed their time together. It’s not – he can do this. Hastily, he pulls out his phone and repeats his number to Cas who then calls him. “Okay, got it.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

They’re just looking at each other again dumbly and Dean wonders what he’s supposed to do know. A handshake? That seems oddly formal. A hug? Oh hell no. He doesn’t even know this guy. In the end, he just sits there although this is probably very rude and awkwardly waves at him.

Maybe he just imagines it, but Cas seems – kind of disappointed? He swallows and stares at Cas when he turns around and slowly makes his way to the building. When he’s finally inside, he looks down at his phone where the number is still on the home screen. He doesn’t even know Cas’ full name. And he doesn’t know what to do with this number – call him? Ask him out? Platonically, of course. Or he could just – write him. But what? Fuck, that was a bad idea. He puts back his phone and makes his way home.

 

**uuuuuu**

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to message Cas because Cas messages him as soon as he gets off the campus at 5. It’s just a frowny face but somehow, it’s enough to get the conversation going. They text a bit about their respective days since they last met a few hours ago – which is, honestly, embarrassing – until Dean has to cook. This leads to a whole conversation about cooking in which Cas admits that he really, never has tried to cook and still lives with his mom so he feels like he missed his mark years ago.

Dean tries to cheer him up while eating the pasta he made, explaining the most basic recipes until Cas writes ‘this sounds difficult. you’d have to show me’ and that makes Dean toss the phone away because, honestly, no. He can’t tell if Cas is flirting or not – well, probably not, and it’s just Dean’s overactive imagination, but he did basically invite himself in.

Kind of. He cautiously picks up the phone and writes ‘I’m sure you’ll manage’ which he figures sounds reassuring enough to not be a rude dismissal.

They continue to write in the next few weeks that are surprisingly busy. He doesn’t see Cas again at first but they’re still managing to talk every day – sometimes about college, sometimes about cooking and increasingly often about cute cat videos. Dean had never in his life looked into this particular section of YouTube but ever since Cas mentioned it, he’s hooked. Sadly, everything he sends Cas is something he’s already seen and it soon becomes a competition between them.

Two weeks later, they meet again at the cafeteria – kind of by chance, but also kind of not. Just before he stepped through the glass door he shot a text to Cas ‘hey, wanna meet up?’ and somehow, one thing lead to another.

The spontaneous visits soon become a habit in their life and although they stopped eating ice when the temperatures started to go below the freezing point more often than not, they’re still eating there twice a week. He and Cas are getting increasingly familiar and it’s creepy how much he actually told Cas about his life – and vice versa – but it just feels so good to talk to Cas that he can hardly care.

Dean gets more and more settled into his college routine, starting to even actively enjoying it, and Cas is a huge part of that. Even though they’re seeing each other twice a week, they’re still texting almost daily which he still can’t quite get over and sometimes they’re verging on the line of almost flirting – only getting shut down by Dean putting his phone away for his own good.

Yeah, Cas is nice and funny and sexy and kind of exactly his type in any way, but one, he’s not gay – probably – and even if he was, Dean definitely wasn’t. No dice. He didn’t even masturbate with this guy in his thoughts anymore, although that was more to the fact that the last time he did he had to face Cas the next day which was something he never wanted to experience again.

So he settles down into casually-but-every-day-and-on-a-very-tight-schedule-interacting-with-Cas until it occurs to him that they still haven’t seen each other outside of the campus. The thought comes up when he makes pasta again while texting with Cas and he distinctly remembers the first day he texted Cas. The fact that they’re still here, more than a month later, without another casual invite proofs to him that Cas really isn’t interested in that way (which  _ doesn’t _ sting) so he does what he does best, which is typing without thinking.

‘ _ You should try this’ _ he texts Cas and sends a pic of his plate for good measure. His phone buzzes almost immediately with a message from Cas:  _ ‘Looks delicious. I’d love to.’ _

Which – okay. That wasn’t an invitation. Not per se. It’s apparent that it’s now up to Dean but he still hesitates. That wouldn’t be a date, right? Like exchanging phone numbers wasn’t a flirtation. He only knows this guy because he hit him with a Frisbee, for fuck’s sake. This in itself is super not romantic and anyway, they’re not romantic, right?

Honestly, Dean has forgotten what he even  _ wanted _ to think. Is it creepy to meet up when it’s not a date? Surely not, right? But why would they meet up if it’s not a date? He repeats the word date so often in his head that it seems to have lost all meaning and he realizes that he just stared at the phone for five minutes.

With a deep breath, he types four words into his phone: ‘Want to come over?’. For extra dramatic effect, he closes his eyes before hitting send before throwing his phone on the counter. Thank God it’s already on mute so that way he can just enjoy his pasta without worrying about the text.

He lasts exactly 30 seconds before he gets up again and looks at the phone. There’s a new message from Cas, right there, asking where he lives and that he’d love to, ‘as I said’. Little shit. Dean smiled fondly before remembering that that’s a very date-y thing to do. Instead, he settles for a very manly way to type the address into his phone, asking Cas when he’s going to be there and telling him ‘no need to hurry’.

The next 20 minutes are the biggest torture in his life and he hasn’t eaten one more bite from his plate because he spends all the time he has trying to clean up his place a bit. It doesn’t look that bad but he has seen Cas’ house, albeit only from outside. But it had been super neat looking and although that was probably explained by him still living with his mom, he doesn’t want to be the weird dude who doesn’t have his life together.

It would be an accurate assessment, but fuck him if he showed Cas that. He even fluffs up the shabby pillows on his second-hand sofa before thinking that this is probably a bit over the top and trying to mess them back up but that doesn’t work and it just looks really bad and he contemplates fluffing them back up –

Until the bell rings. “Fuck,” he curses and goes to the door with one last look at the pillows. They’re going to have to do, he thinks while he lets Cas in. “Second floor,” he says into the speaker. There’s a loud grumbling in the stairway as Cas makes his way up.

When he appears in the doorway Dean’s breath hitches. He’s looking good. Like, really good. Usually, he goes to campus dressed somewhat business-like but now he’s just in a hoodie and jeans. He also has a bottle of wine in his hand which makes Dean squirm with embarrassment. Jesus. Couldn’t he at least have brought a whiskey?

Still, he takes the bottle of wine out of Cas’ hand and puts it into the kitchen. Cas sheepishly follows after getting rid of his shoes. “This smells delicious,” he says and points the pot with pasta.

Right, pasta. The reason they’re here. “I’m gonna make you a plate,” he says. “I haven’t eaten yet either.”

“You didn’t need to wait for me, Dean.”

“Well – yeah. I did. I’d probably get hungry again if I watched you eat. This shit’s great, trust me. My mom taught me that.”

Cas chuckles softly and takes a few steps forward until he’s directly next to Dean. “I wish my mom would have taught me something like that.”

“Now you’ve got me.” Shit, where did that come from? He almost misses the plate with his scoop full of sauce.

“Oh really?” Cas tilts his head. “Because last time, you said you’ll manage alone.”

Dean blushes. “That was – dude. That was weeks ago. Why do you remember that?” They’re not going to talk about the fact that  _ he _ remembers, thank you very much.

“I  _ remember _ you denying me to eat your homemade pasta. I’m very resentful if it’s about food.” He takes the plate from Dean’s hands. “Do you have a dining table?”

“Um, no, just the – just the couch. I don’t have much stuff in here.”

They step into the living room and place their plates on the coffee table. “I still like it here,” Cas says. “You have a lot of movie posters in here.”

“Well, what kind of student would I be if I hadn’t? Dig in, by the way.”

Cas takes a forkful of pasta while continuing to look around. “What’s Napoleon Dynamite? Was it enjoyable? My pop culture knowledge is very bad.”

It’s a good opportunity to start a conversation so he goes on and on about the movie while they eat. Cas compliments the food on various times, leaving Dean to blush again and again, and soon they’re in a discussion in which order the Star Wars movies are supposed to be watched.

They resume the rest of the dinner on the floor in front of Dean’s DVD rack, discussing the accuracy of movies like Gravity and Interstellar until they’re not even eating anymore, just sitting there and talking. Cas only stands up once wordlessly to open up the bottle of wine and bringing it back to where Dean is sitting.

“I didn’t know where your glasses are,” he explains and just hands him the bottle. “But I believe that this is actually a very common way to enjoy alcohol.”

“Straight from the bottle? Hell yeah.” He doesn’t think about how their lips are  _ basically _ touching when they both drink in quick succession because really, that’s teenager talk and he hasn’t been a teenager for years. Even if he feels like one now.

Dean contemplates if he should suggest watching one of the movies they’re talking about, but it’s already getting late and they both have to get up early in the morning. Also – a dinner, wine, and a movie? No. No. Hell no. He takes another big sip to stop his mouth from saying traitorous things. Thankfully, Cas doesn’t bring it up either, so they just empty the bottle in record time while giggling and leaning against the coffee table.

It only now catches Dean’s eye that Cas’ socks are mismatched and he turns to Cas to confront him about it but  _ fuck _ , Cas is really really close. And he’s really close, too, which makes sense, but somehow it also doesn’t, because, when had he leaned over that much? The worst thing, Cas looks at him like – well, like he expects something. He’s seen this look before, mostly on women, the dark and wide eyes, the slightly parted lips and fuck –

Wait, he’s not really going to do this, is he? Dean’s lip part automatically too and apparently Cas seems to see this as some kind of encouragement which it isn’t, it really isn’t, and his lips are on his before he can lean back. Cas tastes like the cheap wine they just drank and Dean wonders why he even bothered to get a heart attack about their kiss by proxy because now they’re kissing for real and wow. His lips are really soft despite looking so chapped and he leans in to deepen the kiss before realizing that no, this is a bad idea. A really bad one.

He leans back so fast his back makes a suspicious cracking sound and stares at Cas in horror. Neither of them says something for a second until Dean opens his mouth to say “Um.”

Cas’ face falls, first into a frown, then into something more akin to embarrassment, and he mumbles: “I’m – sorry. I thought… I was under the impression you wanted –”

“No.”  _ Yes _ , a voice screams in his head, _ but also, no. _

“Oh.” Cas stands up abruptly, swaying a bit and almost falling forward right into his arms, but he manages to steady himself on the side of the shelf. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

Dean wants to say something like ‘no, really, it’s fine, please stay’ but he knows damn well that this is actually a good idea. They’re both drunk and did a stupid thing – a stupid thing Cas apparently wanted, which makes his head swim – and it’s probably better if Cas goes and Dean can bury himself under his blanket and pretend this never happened.

Apparently, he was silent long enough for Cas to take that as an answer, and he scrambles to get out of the living room and put on his shoes as fast as he can. “Thank you for the dinner, Dean,” he says and is already at the door. “Goodbye.”

And without Dean being able to say anything, he’s gone. Fuck. He resists the urge to punch his TV just because it’s the nearest thing that would make a satisfying crunching sound and instead stands up to put the plates away.

Great. He fucked that up royally. Well, technically, Cas fucked it up because Dean sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed him, but still. If he hadn’t invited him in, that wouldn’t have happened. Yes, it seems like in hindsight Cas has been flirting with him all the time, but he was the one to take it one step further. Fuck.

He puts the plates in the sink and scrubs them with more force than necessary before deciding that simply going to bed is probably going to be the best course of action. Almost automatically, he checks his phone before slipping under the covers and regrets it immediately. Of course, there’s no message from Cas. How big of a sap is he that he even expects a text from him? Oh, right, they did that before going to bed for the last – 10 days or so?

Really, he should have seen earlier where they’ve been headed. He could have steered it back onto the right track, but now he’s left with a broken friendship and the taste of cheap wine on his lips. The wish to quit college, if only to escape from ever seeing Cas again, is unbelievably strong again, but he’s not going to skip classes just because he fucked things up. If he handled things in his life that way, he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed on a  _ good _ day.

 

**uuuuuu**

 

Cas doesn’t text him anymore. Which is good because he doesn’t text Cas either, but it’s still an extremely unsatisfying situation. Both Benny and Charlie have picked up on it which is, frankly, embarrassing. They both don’t know him well enough to suspect anything about his life, but somehow they still managed to pick up on the source of his foul mood.

The radio silence lasts for 10 days until Dean decides that he at least should try and strike up something with him again. He can’t possibly be that hurt, right? It’s not like he insulted him as a faggot or something like that. They just – weren’t like that. That was all. They could still be friends, right?

Because he doesn’t know what to write he settles for a video of a cat licking a lemon repeatedly, always looking more apprehensive but somehow not stopping. Cas doesn’t answer for 30 minutes and Dean is ready to give up when finally, his phone buzzes, and it’s a video of a cat attacking another one from the inside of a closet. Dean reacts with another one but this time, Cas just replies after a few minutes with  _ ‘this reminded me of you. I didn’t want to start a battle.’  _ which, okay.

He looks at the video again; it’s just two cats fighting, what’s the big deal? But okay, if Cas doesn’t want to talk, fine. The reasonable solution to this, of course, is to get drunk off his ass which is totally reasonable since it’s a Saturday anyway. Five beers and three shots in, he stares at the video again and again until it hits him.

This fucker.  _ ‘I’m not in the closet’ _ he texts to Cas. This time, the response comes almost immediately:  _ ‘right’ _ .

‘ _ I’m not’  _ he texts again.

‘ _ If you say so’. _

‘ _ I had plenty of girlfriends’  _ Dean writes,  _ ‘And I wanted to ask Charlie out’ _ .

‘ _ Dean, Charlie is gay.’ _ .

What the – no, that can’t be. Charlie can’t be gay, right? How the fuck would Cas even know? Cas doesn’t know a thing about Charlie. He would know because he spends a lot of time talking with Charlie and Cas always just seems to string along.

He starts to write a long ass text but finally decides that it’s probably better to just call Cas, so he does it. Cas answers with a bored and gravelly voice that makes Dean’s heart flutter although he knows he should be angry right now.

“Dean,” Cas sighs into the phone. “Are you drunk?”

“No. Maybe. Dude, that’s not the point. I’m just – I’m not gay. I used to like guys, you know, but then I liked girls.”

“I never said you are. I said  _ Charlie’s _ gay. And I hope you realize that this is a kind of concerning statement. There are more sexualities than just gay and heterosexual.”

Dean fumbles with the cap of his sixth beer bottle, trying to open it without letting Cas know. “That’s not – how do you even know that Charlie’s gay.”

“Dean, the first time she talked to us she called me ‘hot, but full homo’. How did you  _ not _ notice? And also, no straight person would automatically assume that two guys are on a date.”

Okay, maybe he has a point there. “Good, but I’m not gay.” Wait, he already said that. “I mean, just because I liked you I’m not gay – that didn’t come out right – I mean, if you think I’d want to kiss you, then I’m gay. You’d think that I mean, but you’d be wrong. No. I’m just – I’m not gay.”

“You know there’s something called bisexuality, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m – wait. Maybe I am. Fuck. Am I? Dude. Tell me. Am I?”

Another sigh on Cas’ line, then: “I think we should just hang up. You’re drunk and this phone call doesn’t make much sense this way.”

“But I  _ like _ you,” Dean whines.

“Well, I like you too, but that is kind of the problem here.”

“But, I like you too.” Wait, he already said that. “Where is the problem?” There, better. He isn’t sure anymore why he wanted to call Cas again. No, right, he wanted to say he isn’t gay. Which he isn’t. He made that clear. And he’s certainly not in the closet, or in any closet. He doesn’t even have a closet, just a rack for his clothes.

“Does your idea of liking me entail kissing me and, possibly, more?” Cas slowly asks. “Because you just contradicted yourself on basically every level.”

“Well, I’m drunk, cut me some slack.”

There’s silence on the other line and Dean can almost see Cas’ disapproving face in front of him. Shit, he missed that face. He may not be gay, but he really really likes Cas. It’s probably mostly the beer talking, but he wants to slap himself for not doing something about it earlier.

“Do you want to come over?” he asks because right now, this seems like a perfect idea.

“Dean –” Cas sighs.

“We could kiss,” Dean says.

“Would that end the way it did last time?”

No. Probably. Maybe. “No?” he tries awkwardly. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you back. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not super smart.”

“You’re very smart man, Dean,” Cas sighs. “But if you’re just having another sexuality crisis over me, I’m hanging up.”

“I’m not,” Dean says affronted. “I’m not gay.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Maybe bi.”

Cas snorts. “Alright, fine, I’m coming over. But we’re just going to talk.”

He hangs up without giving Dean a chance to reply and Dean just sits there, dumbfounded. So Cas is going to come over. That’s great. And they can kiss. Maybe. Possibly. He doesn’t even realize the time flying when the doorbell suddenly rings.

It’s Cas, because of course it’s Cas, and he’s wearing the same stupid hoodie again. And yeah, Cas said he just wanted to talk, but he wants to show him he’s really meaning it this time and he’s not gay, but he still really wants to kiss him, and if Charlie’s gay, he can’t ask her out and he doesn’t even fucking want to ask Charlie out, why did he even say this, and the crux of this is, he leans forward and plants a kiss on Cas’ lips.

There’s an awkward moment where Cas doesn’t react and Dean feels like he went too far and wants to pull back, but Cas firmly puts his hands on his shoulders and start to kiss back for real. The door’s still open which should be embarrassing but the kiss is good,  _ really _ good, and he couldn’t care less. Maybe it’s the alcohol enhancing his every sense but when they’re deepening the kiss and their tongues meet, his breathing stops for a moment and they only part after a minute or so to catch a breath.

Cas finally lets go of Dean and looks at him pointedly. “Dean, we really should talk,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, still a bit breathless. “But we also really should kiss.”

Cas shakes his head, but he’s smiling, so that’s a good sign, right? “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also visit me on [tumblr](https://deaneatscake.tumblr.com/). :)


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